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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236204">rosy with you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeaboutlove/pseuds/writeaboutlove'>writeaboutlove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends to Lovers, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Recreational Drug Use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:55:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,030</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26236204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeaboutlove/pseuds/writeaboutlove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shouyou looks at him, flushed and a little hazed, opens his mouth a little more, sweet like honey, and leans closer to him.</p><p>Oh. Atsumu thinks, heavily, dizzily, softly. <i>Oh</i>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>160</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>rosy with you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a lil commission piece for <a href="https://twitter.com/yukaluh">luh (yukaluh)</a> ! ! !! i love u :~D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yellow meets pink. Violet meets blue. Gray buildings laced with random splashes of color meets the dark blue sky littered with tiny sparkling stars. The bright, white lights meet the eccentric billboard from over there. The yellow streetlights meet the flurrying crowd, still so large at a school night, at 11 PM. Smoke meets light yellow fluorescent lights from this rooftop. In this rooftop, air meets concrete, wind meets humans. On this rooftop, smoke meets lips and hand meets hand. In this rooftop, Miya Atsumu’s fingers brush against Hinata Shouyou’s and there’s the lingering image of smoke wafting by Shouyou’s lips, glossy, sweet red lips painted with a smile.</p><p>Hand meets hand. Hand over hand. Fingers brush against each other and for a moment, Atsumu considers.</p><p>Considers.</p><p>Hm.</p><p>(Considers what?)</p><p>But then his trance breaks and his fingers are gently grabbing the blunt instead and he’s trying hard not to focus on the smoke by Shouyou’s lips and his flushed cheeks and how his brown eyes shine a little too differently underneath the yellow lights of this rooftop.</p><p>There’s something about Osaka at 11 PM—the bright, city lights still so active and new, the far-away chatter of the crowd and distant pop music playing somewhere. The night air is chilly and whips at their cheeks, eyes squinting at the possible dirt flying onto them, hair flying incredulously by their cheeks. The concrete is hard beneath his ass, although it’s slightly cushioned by the blanket Shouyou had insisted on bringing.</p><p>“Trust me, Atsumu-san,” Shouyou had said, grin bright and light as he hauls his bag over his back and struggles to fold a soft blanket underneath his arm. “You’d be grateful for this blanket later.”</p><p>Atsumu had stayed quiet then, words dying on the back of his throat as the situation dawned on him. He’d wanted to ask so badly then, <em> how long have you been doing this? Why haven’t you been inviting me? </em></p><p>Oh, well. He’d get to ask it eventually.</p><p>Now, with his head tipped back against the wall behind him, eyes trained to look at the stars, on display for tonight, for them. He slowly breathes out, smoke mingling in with the dark sky. Everything is a little bit hazy and cold. He thinks it’s still 11 PM. Maybe it’s not anymore. When he looks down again, Shouyou’s staring at him, bottom lip jutted out, eyes dark and gazed.</p><p>“What?” Atsumu mumbles and sighs, sits up a little straighter. “How long have you been doing this, Shouyou-kun?”</p><p>“Hm,” Shouyou hums, mellow and soft, moving closer until their thighs are touching. He seems small and pliant, pressed against Atsumu. “In Brazil. And then,” he moves closer, head slowly leaning down, breath shallow. “Third-year high school. And a couple of months ago with Kenma,” he breathes out slowly, head hitting Atsumu’s shoulder. “Hm. And then some.”</p><p>“What,” Atsumu manages again, a bit hazy, sleepy, honey. “And you just—just invited me <em> now </em>?”</p><p>Shouyou laughs softly, breathless, and familiar. The blunt flickers by his fingertips and Atsumu focuses on it. “Sorry, Atsumu-san,” he says sweetly, leaning his cheek on Atsumu’s shoulder and looking up at him. “I didn’t know you smoke weed, too!”</p><p>Atsumu probably does. Or he doesn’t. It’s been too long and too close to when he last smoked.</p><p>“My first time,” he recounts, staring up at the sky again. He could feel Shouyou shuffle and move closer to him. “Was in high school. Don’t know. Suna suggested it to us and it just happened.”</p><p>It was a memory so vivid to him—it was one of the times Atsumu treasured and held close to his heart. The hushed silence when Suna brought it out, eyes wide and curious as they sat on Suna’s bedroom floor. Osamu was beside him, talking nonsense and it was all things Atsumu forgot; but he never forgets the laughter, the haziness, the giggling, the touches and hugs, the playful fights, and then watching YouTube. Atsumu had always associated it—being high—with that moment: giggly, fun, light, hazy, dizzying, fun.</p><p>But here: in this chilly rooftop with Hinata Shouyou, at the dead of night, the underlying pressure of morning training tomorrow sitting on the ends of his stomach, Atsumu feels—new, different. Shouyou’s body, pressed up against his, is familiar and warm, hair a gentle orange by Atsumu’s side. His fingers are rough with callouses as he rolls up another blunt, thumb flicking gently at his lighter. Practiced movement.</p><p>Atsumu wonders when it begins and ends. Shouyou mumbles something, soft and sleepy and Atsumu turns to him. He watches as Shouyou offers the blunt again, eyes dark and hooded and Atsumu takes it. Takes, takes, takes.</p><p>“That’s the last one,” he hears Shouyou murmur, head comfortable on his shoulder. “I forgot some at Kenma’s.”</p><p>“Shouyou,” Atsumu laughs and takes a hit, inhaling deeply and letting a moment pass before softly blowing out the smoke, watches as it mingles in with the stars again. Huh. How long has his head been leaned back? He sighs and looks back down at Shouyou. “I’m sleepy.”</p><p>“I wanna laugh,” Shouyou says suddenly and takes the blunt away from Atsumu. He sits up straight and takes a deep hit. “Atsumu-san, say something funny.”</p><p>“Wha,” Atsumu says and there it was—the soft chuckling, the gentle shaking of Shouyou’s body against his. “<em> Are you laughing already? </em>”</p><p>Shouyou lets out a laugh and looks at him, cheeks flushed and grinning widely. “Sorry, Atsumu-san,” he says with a laugh and Atsumu thinks— “I just wanted to laugh.”</p><p>And there it is again: the heaviness yet softness settling deep into Atsumu’s stomach, the rise and fall, the heat and warmth that settles whenever Shouyou—does anything. Laughs. Smiles. Looks at him. Looks at other people. Atsumu looks at him and—looks, breathes, likes—loves? Hinata Shouyou. Hm.</p><p>“Pretty,” Atsumu sighs and looks up at the sky again. He turns to Shouyou, giggly and a little hazy, and takes the blunt from his fingers. “Come on, I’ll finish this.”</p><p>“Ah!” Shouyou cries out a little with a gasp. “But I wanted the last one!”</p><p>“We can share,” is something Atsumu says before it registers on his mind, voice slurry, and syrupy. Oh. Like honey. Like Shouyou’s hair, like his smile, gooey soft. “Let’s share and then we’ll—uhm—vibe.”</p><p>“<em> Vibe </em>,” Shouyou echoes, laughter twinkling out of the edges of his mouth as he looks at Atsumu weirdly, eyes a little glossy. “You’re so weird, Atsumu-san.”</p><p>And then, “How are we gonna share?”</p><p>Yeah. Atsumu thinks, lifting the blunt to his dry lips. How are we gonna share, Atsumu-san?</p><p>“Atsumu-san,” he hears Shouyou whine a little, poking at his arm and he turns to him, the smoke still deep into his lungs. Shouyou looks at him, eyes hot and heavy and his mouth drop opens a little and for a moment, Atsumu considers dropping his mouth in shock. Shouyou looks at him, flushed and a little hazed, opens his mouth a little more, sweet like honey, and leans closer to him.</p><p><em> Oh </em> . Atsumu thinks, heavily, dizzily, softly. <em> Oh. </em></p><p>That’s what Shouyou meant. Maybe that’s what Atsumu meant too.</p><p>Shouyou drifts a little closer, eyes wide and dark as his lips part a little more, and then more. Atsumu’s hand reaches up and cradles Shouyou’s jaw, warm and sweaty on his palm as he tilts his head, eyes meeting Shouyou’s. He looks at him a little more, a silent question of <em> are you sure? shouyou-kun </em>.</p><p>Shouyou-kun nods and lets his mouth fall open, tilts his head a little more, and closes his eyes and—waits.</p><p>Atsumu wants to grab him and kiss him until he’s out of breath.</p><p>He doesn’t.</p><p>Atsumu leans in, lips brushing against each other and breathes out, closes his eyes. He’s about to pull away, eyes fluttering open when there’s a press of lips against his and a soft sigh, smoke flying through them and Atsumu wonders then doesn’t. A hand fists the top of his shirt and he lets out a soft sound, tongue briefly meets tongue, a deeper kiss, a gentle press. And then, Shouyou’s pulling away and there’s laughter echoing somewhere and—Atsumu opens his eyes and meets Shouyou’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes.</p><p>“Atsumu-san,” he laughs softly, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. “You’re very weird and silly. Willy. I like that.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Shouyou kisses like how Atsumu thinks he would, a little sweet, honey-like, a little bright, lots of laughter.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu wants it forever.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Atsumu read once. Of a man with a wife of a nurse. A nurse of a wife. He’s not really too sure. But he knows this: he invented rubber gloves for her, simply because she kept coming home with chapped hands. Atsumu had let this story sit and settle for a while, had wondered what love truly felt like, if it would feel like that. Or maybe it was all just a hoax, mere feelings turned into words that wouldn’t even make sense.</p><p>But then, Atsumu meets Hinata Shouyou. Bright, fun, loud, special, cute.</p><p>Miya Atsumu had met Hinata Shouyou—looked at him, breathed with him, played with him, smiled and laughed with him and thought—no, <em> knew </em>; he’d invent volleyball all over again, just for Hinata Shouyou.</p><p>(But here is the truth: Miya Atsumu is just Miya Atsumu. He’s just a boy, a man, a setter for a team. And Hinata Shouyou is just a man, an outside hitter for a team. The least Atsumu could do is think of new strategies and attacks to make Shouyou do that thing Atsumu loves—turn to him with bright eyes and a wide grin on his lips, hands raising for a high five. It’s the most he could do for Hinata Shouyou.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The morning after goes like this: legs tangled against each other, hands almost kissing each other, faces so close that when Atsumu wakes up, nose scrunching, head aching, the ringing of his and Shouyou’s alarms mixing and echoing on his ears, he’s face-to-face with Shouyou’s quiet, sleeping face. Here, Shouyou is silent, peaceful, lips a soft pout. Here, Shouyou’s legs are tangled with his, hands in-between them as they twitch and curl around each other. Here, Atsumu stares at Shouyou and finds that he wants to see him like this, every day, every week, maybe, for the rest of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Atsumu realizes this, too: he wants to see Shouyou in every emotion, in every expression: the look of triumph, the look of sleepiness, the look of annoyance, the look of happiness. He wants to see and experience it all.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their morning goes like this: Atsumu pokes and draws lines at Shouyou’s palms and tangles their legs, even more, face warming yet a smile forming as Shouyou’s brows furrow in annoyance. It goes like this: Shouyou wakes up and it’s like the heart opening, warm and bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Atsumu realizes again, the mornings with Hinata Shouyou. Slow and bright, quiet, and soft. Heavy breakfast, rushed coffees, and vitamins. Gym bags and laughter. Rushing trains, late footsteps. Dear God, he wants this.)</span>
</p><p>Morning training goes like this: he’s his spiker, he’s his setter. There are stolen glances and flushed cheeks, the quietness and stillness of last night settling onto their bones. There’s soft high-fives, gentle smiles, and bright eyes. Atsumu looks at Shouyou and wonders when it started, when it began, when he realized.</p><p>Maybe he knew all along.</p><p>(Did he wait long? Did Shouyou wait a little too long?)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Palm meets ball. Ball meets palm.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Glances with each other. Soft smiles.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Softer smiles, softest hands.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Training comes and goes and soon enough, Atsumu’s staring at his locker and there’s the usual chatter of the team and the laughter and the advice and the—Atsumu wants.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Shouyou looks at him and it’s like a prayer, a request, a kiss.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“There was something, right, Shouyou-kun?”</p><p>Palm meets palm. Lips brush against each other.</p><p>His nose bumps against his.</p><p>“I told you, didn’t I, Atsumu-san? Willy.”</p><p>Shouyou smiles, bright and light, presses his lips at the side of Atsumu’s mouth.</p><p>“I like that about you. I like you.”</p><p> </p><p>
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</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope u enjoyed my tiny atshn!!!! rawr heres my <a href="https://twitter.com/bokkuns">my twt</a> ! ! &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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